


Coming Undone

by ktbl



Series: Paper Rings [8]
Category: Mortal Kombat (Video Games)
Genre: Cunnilingus, Edging, Established Relationship, Explicit Sex, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Johnny Is Way Too Patient, Kitchen Sex, Little Kid Cassie, Married Couple, Married Sex, Sonya Done Fucked Up, Valentine's Day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-14 19:27:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,947
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29423802
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ktbl/pseuds/ktbl
Summary: “Blade.”“Oh, so you’re not dead.” Her husband’s voice is sour and unimpressed. “I wasn’t sure. We were supposed to go out tonight, remember? I wasn’t sure if you were dead or hauled out on some classified op with no time to call home and tell me.” He sounds as if he’s biting off every word, each one a compact jab, a string of punches right to her gut.“I remember. But that’s not until-“ She blinks, and looks at the time on her computer’s monitor. “Shit.”--In which Sonya done fucked up and forgot her husband's favorite day of the year.
Relationships: Sonya Blade/Johnny Cage
Series: Paper Rings [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1727047
Comments: 12
Kudos: 16





	Coming Undone

**Author's Note:**

> As if I wouldn't have something for Valentine's Day for these two!

Sonya rubs at the bridge of her nose with her fingers, squeezing it almost until it aches. Better that than the throbbing behind her eyes that’s been bothering her for the past three hours. She has to finish this last damned paperwork and then she’ll be done and she can get home. A clusterfuck of a mission on someone else’s end, and she’s neck-deep in after-action reports and video data she’s almost too tired to parse. But it has to get _done_ \- and it’s her responsibility.

The low buzzing that keeps interrupting her continues. She snarls at her phone. She’s kept it jammed in her drawer all afternoon to avoid being distracted, and the incessant vibrating and buzzing hasn’t improved her mood. Will whoever it is just _leave her alone_? If it’s actually important - if Cassie’s sick, or something happened to her or Johnny, someone would call her office and make sure she knows.

The phone goes back to blissful silence. She squints at her screen, rubbing her eyes again. She still can’t quite manage to understand the squad leader’s decision making process on this, and how they ended up losing almost all their gear and needing an emergency extraction. She groans and shakes her head, planting her hands on the edge of the desk and pushing back. She needs a break from this, but she can’t head home until it’s done.

Another round of buzzing interrupts her thinking and she groans again. She pulls open the drawer and looks at the caller ID. _Cage_. Of course. She accepts the call, holding the phone up to her ear.

“Blade.”

“Oh, so you’re not dead.” Her husband’s voice is sour and unimpressed. “I wasn’t sure. We were supposed to go out tonight, remember? I wasn’t sure if you were dead or hauled out on some classified op with no time to call home and tell me.” He sounds as if he’s biting off every word, each one a compact jab, a string of punches right to her gut.

“I remember. But that’s not until-“ She blinks, and looks at the time on her computer’s monitor. “Shit.”

“You were supposed to be home an hour and a half ago.” That’s downright accusatory. She closes her eyes.

“I’ve - give me fifteen to finish this up and I’ll be home.”

“Cassie’s waiting up for you.”

 _Shit_. “As soon as I can.”

She walks in the door not much later and her stomach sinks a little. He’s gone all-out tonight, and she starts to feel more than a little guilty. The lights are low, corners cast into shadows. Even the usual bright glare of the TV is gone in favor of music playing out of his beloved stereo system. She can hear him talking to someone, the low rumble of his voice that makes her reflexively curl her toes in her boots. There’s a sound, the high-pitched giggle of a child - Cassie - at something funny.

The baby - _shit_ , they were going to go out for dinner, he’d scored a babysitter for Valentine’s Day, and _damn it_ she had worked right through.

“I lost track of time,” she calls in by way of apology, bending down to work off her boots. “There was a mission that went sideways and it was my people, and-“

“I cancelled the sitter and the reservations.” His voice carries from the kitchen, a little less sour than it had been on the phone - likely for Cassie’s benefit. She’s an oddly sensitive child, or maybe it’s normal and Sonya just has nothing to go off of. Wriggling her toes in her socks she heads towards the kitchen, the mingled scents of spice and bread and garlic and something meaty carrying through towards her. Before she can get in and see what he’s up to, he steps out.

Her breath hitches for a moment. He’s dressed to the nines, far fancier than she had expected. Nice slacks, suit jacket, and a dark shirt half-buttoned. He looks good, and her heart skips and muscles clench low in her body in a visceral, instinctual pleasure. Cassie’s in her pajamas, tired but determined not to admit it in the way only a child can. She’s clinging to her father’s jacket and has her head pillowed on his shoulder. At the sight of Sonya, she beams and reaches out.

“Hey, pumpkin.” Sonya presses a kiss to the cap of shining blonde hair. Cassie snuggles into her, fingers grabbing the fabric of Sonya’s duty uniform. Cassie smells clean and washed - she’s probably been fighting sleep for a good-night cuddle, since ‘Mama should be home any minute’ has dragged into hours. The weight is comfortable as she wraps little legs around Sonya and tucks herself up in against her.

“Mama _late_ ,” the toddler yawns. Sonya hides her wince, but Johnny can’t hide the little twist on the side of his mouth, the arch of his brow. Even the toddler knows - she’s definitely in for it now.

“Yes, Mama was late. You’ve probably been giving your dad a hard time, huh? How about we go up and I’ll get you into bed.”

“Cuddles,” Cassie demands. Sonya shoots Johnny a look over Cassie’s head, and he’s got this look on his face like he wants to be angry but he can’t be.

“You put her to bed and I’ve got something to deal with in here, for dinner, since we’re not going out.” His lips thin as they press flat, eyebrows drawing together before he smooths out his face. No wrinkles unless it’s laugh lines. She steps in closer, almost wary of him when he’s being visibly annoyed; it’s infrequent and unpredictable. “Take your time… you can change.” His voice softens slightly, and he exhales in a loud huff. “I left something for you on the bed.”

“Got it.” She shifts her grasp on Cassie, reaching up a hand to cup his cheek for a moment, brush her lips across his. He opens his mouth as if to say something, clamps his lips closed again against it.

“We’ll talk once she’s settled.”

Sonya drops her hand, frowning slightly, but nods.

“Copy. Down when I’m allowed by the boss here.” She glances at the little blonde in her arms, eyelids already going heavy as she nuzzles into Sonya’s uniform jacket. It might be a while; depends on how hard it is to pry Cassie off her, when all is said and done.

Sonya is quietly grateful today was just paperwork and that she doesn’t stink of explosives or gunpowder as she lies down with Cassie to settle her in bed; it doesn’t take as long as expected. Once she is settled and clutching a stuffed panda under an arm and breathing slow and steady, Sonya retreats to the bedroom. She almost stops in her tracks.

There’s a bag on the bed, the type of dress bag she’s come to know as meaning _dry-clean only_ with a subtle underlay of _expect paparazzi_ and _more than you could ever afford on a soldier’s salary_. A tiny blossom of glee that she would never admit to begins to unfurl. He can’t be too upset if he’s left this here. There is also a spread of roses on the bed, a bouquet of at least a dozen rich red blooms, and another dozen of them on her dresser

She unzips the bag’s zipper, and lets out a low whistle as dark blue fabric appears. She can tell it’s silk from the look of it, and it’s confirmed as she rubs the soft cloth between her fingers. She lifts off the bag and raises the hanger. He’s gone all-out on this, long and slinky and slit up just past her knees. It has a halter top that closes low around her neck, and strings of bright shiny rhinestones - _please_ let them be fucking rhinestones - dangling from the collar; they’ll hit her between the shoulder blades.

She lays it down gently on the bed again and begins to strip down. She won’t take a full shower - Johnny will never forgive her for it, the amount of time her hair takes - but she gives herself a quick and brutal scrub before dressing again. She makes her own changes to the wardrobe, pulling out a lacy thong and spending the time to unplait her braid and run a brush through it all. Her fingers are quick to wrap it all up in a messy bun, piercing it with a black hair stick. She feels far too overdressed for a dinner in her own house, but it’s pretty clear he’s pulling out all the stops; she’s got to compromise somewhere.

She even hunts out a pair of heels, the shin black pumps that put her just of a height with him, and slides them on. She’d feel more comfortable with her gauntlets, even her garrote wire curled up and hanging at her hip, but this is home, the last place she should ever need to be armed. Even if sometimes marriage with Johnny really does feel like a never-ending series of skirmishes, and she isn’t sure which one of them gets the better of it.

Down the hall, checking in on Cassie one last time, and then down the stairs for something that is somehow more worrisome than any hearing she’s ever had to attend. She’s fine with pissing him off - that’s easy - and with being angry at him, or vice versa. But it’s the disappointment, the sad vulnerability, that is hardest to deal with.

She trails her hand down the banister and stops two steps from the end as she catches sight of him setting the table with various cups and bowls and glasses. There’s even the damn silver ice bucket from their wedding. She can see two bottle necks peering out of it. She watches his shoulders ripple in the jacket, all bunching muscle and the tight, controlled movements that say he’s carrying some pent-up frustrations. She leans against the railing, so quiet she can hear her heart rabbiting in her chest and the blood rushing through her veins, admiring him. Because as much of a pain in the ass as he can be, he’s a sight worth seeing and somehow, she still does love him so much it’s unfair.

She pushes off the railing and takes the last couple of steps down. “Need a hand?”

Johnny stops, a knife clinking down heavily as he almost drops it, and turns it around.

“Out of all the gin joints…” He trails off. “Babe, you look...” He reaches a hand out towards her and takes her fingertips gently in his. “It’s really hard to be mad at you when you’re so damn stunning.” He makes a sound, a slightly sour chuckle. “Dress looks better on you than I thought it would.”

“That says a lot.” She squeezes his fingertips with hers. “I lost track of time,” she says again, meeting his eyes. “I know we were supposed to go out. But we had a mission go south, and it was my people. It’s up to me as their CO to do my part. I’m responsible for them.”

“Yeah.” He sweeps a finger down her spine and it sends chills rippling through her body. “So I called the restaurant and had them send stuff over. I think I followed all the directions right, and you’re going to have to deal with the fact that I ordered for you, but.”

“You didn’t have to do that.”

“I wanted to. We were going to go out for date night, for Valentine’s Day, damn it. And you lost track of time.” His voice takes on that tart tone she’s come to think of as Hollywood Asshole, when he gets spoiled and his entitlement shows. “I’ve been looking forward to this for months. Babysitter, dinner out, drinks, a drive…”

With every word, her stomach twists a little in mingled interest and dismay. He really had put thought into this, and it definitely sounds like it would have been just the right side of risky to be fun.

“Tomorrow’s going to be just as rough,” she says slowly, “but I think I can square away a sitter for Thursday.” She hooks her fingers into his belt, thumb running over the thick JC logo, and meets his eyes. “Can you keep your mouth shut on it? Don’t tell me everything, we can give it a try in a couple days? You can surprise me then?”

“Sure. Don’t wreck the dress, though.”

“Hey, _I’m_ not the one with a history of destroying clothes to get me out of them,” she points out, poking him lightly in the chest. That earns her a smile, a grudging one, and then it’s like he can’t keep a real one from his face. It hits his eyes, the little wrinkles at the sides that tell her it’s genuine.

“Why do you think I found one with slits?” He slides his hands down her sides, letting them rest on her hips. “It really does look amazing on you. Almost enough to let my reheating a fancy meal go to waste.”

It’s a little jab to her gut. She tries to keep her face cool and neutral, but she’s sure some of the guilt shows on her face. He blinks, eyebrows drawing together in confusion, before it seems like realization hits him.

“That’s not what I meant.” He tightens his grip on her hips and pulls her in closer to him, one hand sliding over her ass and pushing her into him. She can smell his aftershave and a hint of lemongrass and ginger, and twines her fingers around his neck. “I was just looking forward to actually having an adult dinner, out. I love Cass and all, but sometimes dinner’s a whole lot better when it’s just two people, not three.”

“You’re telling me.” She snorts, and peers at the table. “So what is it?”

“Thai, from the nice place. The curry you like that makes my eyes water…” He lists a few more dishes, the ones he knows she likes and a few they both adore. His hand never strays from her ass, either, thumb brushing back and forth.

The dinner that follows is awkward at best, almost as bad as a blind date. She tries to ask the right questions but she’s never sure what those are; as long as it has to do with the scripts he’s evaluating, thinking about auditions for, she figures it can’t go bad. They manage carefully for the whole meal, and she finally gives in as she’s staring at the last of her mango sticky rice.

“I didn’t mean to wreck the plans for tonight.” Sonya sighs, twisting the stem of her wine glass between her fingers. “You went above and beyond getting this here… it’s not the same as eating out, but…”

He raises his wineglass and his eyebrows almost simultaneously, tipping the glass towards her. “Well, nothing says I can’t eat out anyway.”

“What are you-“ She stops abruptly and groans, sagging back against her chair. “You can only think of one thing, can’t you?”

“Oh, come on. Tell me you don’t like it. Tell me you don’t like having a husband who can’t get you off his mind.”

She presses her lips together and takes a drink from her wine glass, rolling the sweet white wine around in her mouth instead of answering. Johnny leans back, looking smug. She wants to wipe that look off his face. Except anything she says will only make it worse. Instead, she turns back to the last bits of the mango sticky rice on her plate and swipes a finger through the coconut cream. She meets his eyes as she deliberately licks it off her fingertip, and watches the smug look become strained. She watches his throat bob as he swallows audibly, so she dips her finger into the cream again.

“Fuck, okay, I give in.” He almost snarls the words. Amused, she lifts both her feet up and settles them in his lap, tapping his stomach with the toe of her shoe. He sighs, a little exasperated and annoyed. “You win.”

“Didn’t realize it was a contest.” She licks her finger off one more time, savoring itand then dabs it dry on her napkin.

“Come here, you.” He reaches a hand out and she drops her feet from his lap, moving from her seat to stand next to him. He tugs her down into his lap. Sonya tucks her head into the crook of his neck, breathing him in. His hands slide along her sides, cupping her thighs and curling over her hips. His touch is warm even through the dress, burning with a heat she wants to feel without fabric in the way. He leans in and kisses her, slowly at first until she opens her mouth and claims his. She shifts, awkwardly straddling him and knotting her fingers in his shirt.

It’s always been easier to talk with their bodies than with their words. Both of them have egos too strong to say ‘sorry’, but they can find a compromise here. Somehow his hands are on her face, sliding up the slit of her dress, over her back, running along her shoulder all at once. It’s a little unnerving but it’s a sign of just how discomfited she’s been that it doesn’t make her pause. She just wants him to keep going.

They spend a long time kissing, half-kisses just enough to steal breath and longer kisses that test their endurance and become a contest in and of themselves to see who pulls away first. She can feel him getting hard under her, the way he shifts slightly under her. She just rolls her hips against him, listening to the way he groans under her. She swallows the groan with another kiss, and feels him shift again.

This comes with a more abrupt movement, his fingers under her ass and lifting her up - first just to the edge of the table. She is sure she’s about to be pushed into a plate - but then up and against him as he stands. She wraps her legs around him, fingers still tangled in his shirt and her lips pressed against his, as he carries her - somewhere. She’s not entirely sure where, her orientation is a bit off. Her shoulder brushes against a door frame as he sinks his fingertips into her ass and hauls her closer, and she realizes they’re heading into the kitchen.

He lifts her up onto the counter, and her elbow knocks something into the sink; she doesn’t particularly know, or care, what it is but she’s sure she’ll clean it up on the morning. His fingers trail hot paths up the inside of her thighs as he flips the dress up over her legs, leaning in to kiss her. She twines her hands around his neck, lacing her fingers together and holding him against her. His tongue slides into her mouth, hot and still carrying the taste of wine.

His fingers brush along the fabric of her underwear; he makes a pleased sound against her lips, thumb tracing along her folds. It sends a cascade of shivers down her spine, and he swallows up her sigh as her eyes flutter closed.

Johnny’s fingers peel back the lace of the thong and his tongue sweeps in a moment later. She weaves her fingers into his hair and lets out a low and happy sound. She swears she can feel him grin against her and the soft hum of pleasure. She can’t keep her hips from twitching as he begins to work her over in earnest. She almost clamps her thighs around his head until he pushes one away and pulls his head back long enough for a deep breath before diving back in with renewed vigor.

He has an unbridled enthusiasm for this, his mouth sealing around her clit and his tongue working circles around and over it. He is enthusiastic and he is _good_. She shifts, slinging one leg over his shoulder to give him better access, her black leather pump dangling precariously on the ball and toe of her foot. She moans encouragingly, cupping her hand around his head. He is good at this, and seems to take it as a point of pride to show her just how good he is. The kitchen fills with low moans and sucking sounds, Johnny’s low rumbling hums of satisfaction almost vibrating through her. She could let him do this for hours, the warm feeling spreading from her core out through her body.

She feels his ears on the insides of her thighs and one of his hands suddenly reaches up, pushing out one of her legs. His voice hitches as he speaks.

“Can’t eat you out if you crush my skull. I love those thighs, but not to kill me. Watch the legs, babe.”

It’s just enough to bring her down from the edge. She scowls down at him and his eyes look a little glassy, hazy. His face shines faintly, slick with her arousal. She rolls her hips, heel jabbing into his shoulder, making a wordless sound of irritation. Johnny snorts once and a smile pulls at his mouth.

“Something you want, babe?”

“Cage…” It’s a miracle she can make the word, as achingly desperate as she is. _So_ fucking close, and he had to stop?

“I got it, I got it.” He reaches down and adjusts his position - and, she’s sure, the hard-on that he’s got to be sporting. Then he begins licking and nibbling his way back up the inside of her thighs, tongue sliding over her folds. She closes her eyes again, sucking in a breath only to moan it out again as he slides a finger into her. Sensations of pleasure cascade through her body, and she gives herself up to it. He keeps going with tongue and fingers. She feels the heat spreading through her again, the tingling that tells her she’s so close, _so_ damn close.

One of her hands drifts up to roll one of her nipples between a thumb and finger, feeling the nub hard under the silk of the dress. She tips her head back and it connects with the cabinet with a solid thunk; the stinging pain only briefly shakes her from the throes of pleasure.

The tongue stops between her legs, and she looks down to see Johnny’s bright eyes gone glassy, eyebrows drawn together in concern. “You okay?”

“Fine.” All she wants is him to get back to what he’s been doing, but instead he pushes back, rising up. She blinks in surprise, the throbbing. “Wait - what-?“

“If you’re fine, then you won’t mind waiting.”

“Cage…” Her voice drops as she reaches for his lapels. He dodges out of the way. Both of her heels clatter to the floor as she flicks her feet free of them. The ache between her thighs is sudden and sure and her body is screaming for release. She tightens her grip on the edge of the counter and then pushes off, landing softly on bare feet. He backs away slowly, holding up his hands, until he hits the fridge with an alarmingly loud thud.

“Oh, you’re hot when you’re angry. But calm down, gorgeous.”

“Calm down? When you just had me on the counter and had me”—she lifts up her fingers, almost infinitesimally separated—“this close? And then you _stop_ and say _I won’t mind waiting_?” Her mouth presses tight, her body warming with anger. She bites down on the inside of her lower lip as the frustration bubbles up. “I am _not_ waiting until Thursday to get off, you asshole!”

“Whoa, whoa. Would I do that to you?”

She glares, hoping it makes her point. He winces, handsome mouth pulling tight. She is sure that he was actually thinking about doing just that, just to be _that_ kind of a dick. He’s never malicious; his heart is too good for that. But sometimes he can be definitely unkind, intentionally or not, and tonight it looks like some of that vindictiveness might be rearing its head.

“Let’s go up to bed.” He keeps his hands out, almost placating. “Hell, do you think _I_ could wait til Thursday?”

“Point.” She narrows her eyes, hands fisting at her sides. “It’s a miracle you’ve waited this long anyway.”

“Hey now.” He reaches for her and picks her up again. She thinks about resisting but only for a moment, instead choosing to take the gesture for what it is.

She wraps her legs around him and tucks her head in the bend of his neck, mouth latching on to skin and sucking a red mark there. She feels the low groan vibrate through his chest and throat and his hands seize tighter into her, one spreading over her ass as he grabs the railing with the other. Trailing kisses up the side of his neck, she tugs the lobe of his ear between her teeth and traces her tongue tip over the shell of his ear, earning another unbridled groan of pleasure.

“What the hell, Sonya?”

“All’s fair in love and war, isn’t it?” She licks another stripe along his neck, and can feel one of his knees wobble as he continues up the staircase.

“I didn’t realize this was war.” His voice has voice gone thick with lust and it sends another spark of desire straight to her groin.

“The minute you decided to fuck around on the kitchen counter and not let me get off, it definitely wasn’t love.” She rocks herself against his groin, grinding herself against him. His fingers tighten convulsively on her ass again, kneading into it.

“Just for that, I am going to pound you into the mattress.” His voice rumbles and she can feel her body tingling with anticipation. He’s bigger than she is - not much taller, but he has breadth and muscle mass where she has speed, but he keeps it all in the sparring ring. He rarely takes it home, rarer still into bed, and the anticipation sends a thrill through her.

“Promises, promises.” She finds the sweet spot just behind his ear and flutters her tongue against it until his breath hitches. His pace picks up and then suddenly they are in their room and he doesn’t even bother with the light switch, instead taking advantage of the moonlight spilling through the blinds. It stripes them both in bars of light and shadow and then she really doesn’t care anymore as he drops them both onto the bed, careful not to land on her. She wriggles against him until she’s almost straddling him, her fingers busy with his belt buckle. He lost his jacket somewhere along the way, and he’s working the buttons of his shirt. She pauses to savor the sight of his muscles, the defined pecs and admirable six-pack, because he has definitely not let himself go.

She wants to run her nails down his chest, over that ridiculous tattoo, and so she does, until her fingers go back to the waist of his pants. She palms the hard bulge between his legs and watches him inhale sharply and let it out in a stuttered exhalation a moment later. She continues, watching him arch up under her touch, but he makes no move to stop her. His eyes are wide as she rubs his cock through the suit pants, and she’s certain she can feel him get harder, almost impossibly hard, to the point that it just can’t be comfortable.

It only takes a minute to get him out of them, and then he is stretched out naked while she is still dressed. She reaches for the clasp at the neck and he shakes his head, reaching a hand to her wrist.

“Keep it on.”

“What was this about not wrecking the dress?” She arches an eyebrow and he lets out that low rumble again, but she doesn’t care. She wraps her hand around his cock, stroking it from base to tip a few times. She twists her hand slowly, watching his eyes go half-lidded and pupils almost fully dilated. She brushes her thumb over the tip and feels beads of fluid. She lets a little smirk play across her face, continuing to stroke as she leans over him and kisses him once more. He meets her and deepens it, bucking up into the almost-closed ring of her fingers.

He moves - she’s not sure how - and then she is on her back and he is propped up above her, grinning smugly.

“I said I was going to pound you into the mattress,” he murmurs, nosing at her throat, the soft skin below her jaw. “I want to make you come so hard you can’t walk for a week.”

“You’re welcome to try,” she replies, her hand still busy on his cock. “I can take anything you can give, and then some.”

“There’s a challenge I like.” Johnny’s fingers skim up her legs and flip the dress up and to the side; she lifts her hips obligingly to get it out of the way. She lets go of his erection to adjust her position and he settles himself between her thighs, sliding his fingers back between them. His thumb circles her clit, and her knees tip out almost of their own accord to give him easier access. He grins. She feels an answering one tug at her mouth as he tucks a finger inside her, dancing around her entrance. She arches up and then nearly grinds down on his hand. She can feel how wet she is, can see the way his eyes keep darting between her face and the apex of her thighs. She wants him, wants him badly, and he knows it.

“Lot of talk.” She swallows and almost savors the ache between her thighs as he pulls his hand away and curves it over her muscled thigh. A moment later the crown of his cock is brushing at her entrance, and then he slides in inch by inch, stretching her body gently around him, until they are flush at the hips. Johnny bows his head for just a moment, and she hooks her heels around behind him, crossing her ankles.

Then he starts to move. She can’t help the way her body trembles as heat fills her. She can feel him inside her, every thrust and every twitch, every way his body shifts against her. He pauses and reaches for her thighs, tipping them up slightly. The minute adjustment floods her with new sensations of pleasure. She moans, reaching a hand up to claw it down his chest. He shudders underneath her touch and it only encourages him to pick up speed.

He’s more forceful tonight, never more than she can handle but the sounds of skin against skin quickly fill the room, their shared panting breaths oddly loud in the otherwise quiet house. The moonlight limns his body with a silver hue, his eyes alternating shadowed and light. She digs her heels into the meat of his ass, urging him harder, faster, and he is more than happy to go along with it. He grabs her thighs again, hands running up her legs and holding the both against her chest. She pulls her legs back towards her and he moves with her until she is almost doubled back against herself and grateful for her flexibility, the new angles sending more pleasure pounding through her. She has just enough space, awkward as it is, to slide one hand between her thighs and rub at her clit as he drives into her, fulfilling his promise. She can give herself up to the pleasure, the way her nerves shoot pleasure through every part of her, the coil of need growing tighter and tighter in her core.

She lets out a throaty groan and reaches up with her free hand, almost scrabbling for him, and yanks his head down to hers to kiss him. She cups the back of his head in her hand, shifts her legs and twists their bodies - and then _she_ is straddling _him_. She can’t keep the _hah!_ of victory from her lips as she settles in the new position. Her blood is pounding in her ears, almost a buzz that overwhelms everything else. She looks down at herself, running her fingers over her body and watching his eyes go wide. If he likes the dress so damn much…

She grabs his cock once more, rising up on her thighs to line herself up, and damn it if it doesn’t feel like he’s even harder than he was before. She sinks down atop him. Johnny groans beneath her, a sound straight from the depths of his being, as she drops down slowly, savoring every moment. When she has all of him inside her again, she circles her hips slowly and listens to the resultant moan from him. His hands slide up and cup her breasts, squeezing them through the fabric. She rises up on her thighs and then slides back down, her eyes on his face and the way his head tips back, his eyes half-close. It’s her turn to pound him into the mattress, and she alternates her movements to keep him just off-balance, just on the right side of good but the wrong side of predictable. It becomes torment for her, too.

His hands settle on her hips and urge her to a more regular rhythm, pushing up against her as she drops down on him. Her whole body feels like it is full of fire, molten heat bubbling under her skin. She drops her hands to the bed, framing Johnny’s face with her hands. His hands seize her ass and thighs and hold her close and she doesn’t pay attention anymore to what she’s doing. The only thing that matters is how good it feels - and it feels really damn good.

It doesn’t take too much longer before she can feel herself back on the edge, the desperate coil of need low in her body thrumming taut and ready to snap. She grinds herself against his body, his hips bucking up into her. It is - miracle of miracles - nearly simultaneously that their bodies both tighten, the coil snapping as her body fills with pleasure, toes curling and all of her muscles going rock-hard. Beneath her, Johnny lets out another of those groans from the depths of his being as his hips snap into her and he holds her against him. She clenches and releases all of her muscles, loving the way he twitches under her.

Their pants are the only sound in the room. Sonya drops her head down to look at him. He looks happy, still buried in her. She lowers herself down onto her elbows and then stretches out on his chest, with one of his hands snaking up to cradle her against him. She can feel his fingers play with the dangly chains of rhinestones, occasionally skittering across the soft skin between her shoulder blades. She lets out her own sigh then, and listens to his heart pounding in his chest. She could lay like this for hours - and probably would if it didn’t mean getting sticky and the resultant mess being harder to clean up. And it very well might wreck the dress.

“Seems you like the dress,” she says lazily, thumb tracing a circle around one of his nipples. “Think you’ll still be up for Thursday?”

“Give me fifteen minutes,” he answers, “and you won’t need to wait that long.”


End file.
